A Lost Muse
by artificiallysweet
Summary: Brennan is having a difficult time with her new novel...who does she turn to for some creative help? Just because we like to watch Booth squirm at the 'S' word. WIP! plz review!
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: Hey guys. Ola! My first go at a Bones fic. Yay! I've tried to keep in character as much as possible. Not too sure how I've gone capturing Brennan on this first one. I would really appreciate a quick note to let me know what you thought. Also, if anyone has any ideas on where and how I could take this later on - that'd be a big help too. I have a fair idea - but I always like to hear other poeples opinions. What can I say? I aim to please.

Disclaimer: Grr, matey! I do not own such a treasure! Gah! Just the basic idea behind

**CHAPTER ONE – A LOST MUSE & CHRISTMAS CHEESE**

Blank. For the past hour, all she had come up with was one work – blank.

She'd tried everything, anything imaginable to get those words flowing. Nothing was working.

Her publisher wanted her next five chapters by 10am the next morning.

She'd long since developed immunity against caffeine – somewhere just beyond her fourth cup, maybe?

Music wasn't helping much either. She found herself more interested in the melody then her writing.

Angela wasn't help either. Every conversation seemed to track back to whether or not she was dedicating this book to Booth as well.

Like she needed another reminder of her "Knight in Standard issue FBI Body Armour", or something like that. Sometimes she just did not understand Angela.

She wanted a drink. Wine to be exact.

It had been a long week – and Temperance Brennan felt herself deserving of a nice, relaxing, comforting glass of wine.

Maybe later – after the writing was finished – she'd even treat herself to a nice bubble bath. One with one of those vanilla bath things Angela had brought her for Christmas.

Wine and cheese – that deliciously creamy, soft cheese with the small melon squares scattered throughout she always seemed to get in her Christmas hamper from the Jeffersonian each year.

Getting up from her chair, Brennan made her way into the kitchen. Turning on the light – she closed her eyes and sighed. If there was one solitary thing she absolutely loved about Christmas it was the assortment of flavored cheeses she could only seem to commandeer over the festive season.

After pulling out the cheese and cutting herself a decent slice she went about pouring herself a glass of wine.

Sliding up onto the counter she slipped a smaller slice of the cheese past her lips.

God, she really loved this cheese. It was quite silly really – to be so endeared by cheese – of all things.

She'd have to ask the purchasing department where they managed to acquire such delicate find.

Swallowing, she finally took a sip of the wine, savoring the cool taste of the bubbling liquid as it washed over the tastebuds on her tongue.

Resting her head against the cupboards behind her she sighed again. This was exactly what she needed – to relax.

She found it very … complex … to write those sorts of things.

Whilst writing her previous novel her publisher asked her to add in some 'smut' as he called it.

Now, most things were not all that hard for Temperance Brennan, but she had found it very challenging to write something unbiased - something that didn't reflect on her personally.

Angela had certainly been impressed when she'd read it. Even Hodgins had complimented it as being 'hot'. And Booth, well Booth had just blushed and tried to divert the subject to a completely different matter when she confronted him in regards to it. Just like he did with anything pertaining to something of a sexual nature.

She'd felt quite pleased at these reactions – minus Booths. His wasn't exactly what one would call a 'constructive' response – creatively speaking.

Regardless, she'd managed to put herself in a position where she had to; 1) write some more 'smut', or 2) re-write the entire last chapter. The latter of which was not all that favorable.

An hour, half a circle of 'melony-cheese' and three glasses of wine later, Brennan was back at her desk – staring absently at the screen.

She'd managed to write a paragraph.

Two hours and she'd finally come up with one, singular, solitary, shitty paragraph.

This was really bad. Her publisher wanted this on his desk in less than eleven hours.

Somewhere along the line, the bottle of wine had ended up resting on her desk next to her cell – the glass long forgotten.

Reaching over, she took the rim of the bottle to her lips – she took another swig and swallowed.

Scrolling back up to the top of the page, Brennan re-read what she had written.

Concentrating was beginning to seem a little to demanding – with the corners of a few select words doing small flip-flops every now and then.

She eventually settled on the small bit of foreplay she'd managed to write. Quite satisfied on the fact she'd been able to detach herself from her character, once again.

Relaxing back into the high leather chair, she took another sip of the offending liquid. Yup, she was beginning to feel the alcohol effect.

Brennan focused her attention back onto the screen.

She needed to plan her next attack – slowly – on the keyboard.

Would she continue on with procrastinating with foreplay?

Or would she get away with jumping to the main event?

She needed help.

Angela! Angela was very good for sex things. Sliding open her cell, she scrolled for the name and hit dial.

Humming along to the music on her media player, she waited for her Best Friend to pick up.

Finally, she heard Angela on the other end. "Hi! You're reached Angela Monten…."

Great. Voicemail. Brennan hung up. Voicemail wasn't helpful right now.

Cam? Surely Cam would be able to help. Scrolling for the number, she dialed again. Voicemail again.

She wouldn't even bother with Hodgins or Zach. Hodgins would be wherever Angela was, also ignoring his cell. And Zach, well she doubted Zach would be much help.

Booth! She could call Booth. Just as before, she scrolled and dialed.

No Voicemail this time.

Ha. Ha! Cliffie!   
So, how'd I go???


	2. Need You Tonight?

**A/N: **Hey all! I'd just like to thank everybody so much for the lovely reviews. It has been a pleasure. Hope you all like this one. Thoughts are appreciated.

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**Chapter 2 – Need You Tonight??**

Hmmm….. Nice dream. Nice dream. Nice soft pillows, nice warm cozy snuggly blanket. Very nice dream. Nice noise.

What? No, bad noise. Bad loud, shrilling, annoying noise.

Seeley Booth rolled over onto his back and blindly started fumbling around for the offending object.

No dice.

Leaning over closer to the noise, he opened his eyes to be greeted with three really big, red, blurry numbers. Squinting a little, the fuzz formed three perfectly digitalized numbers: 1:54am.

1:54am!! What the hell? This had better be good.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Booth, pick up, Booth, pick….."

"Uh….Bones?"

"Booth!"

"Bones, it's 2am!" What could she possibly want at 2am?

"Booth, I need help. I'm stuck."

2am or not, this caught his attention. Was she hurt? Injured? Stuck? Stuck how, and where? God, did something happen to her?

"Bones, what happened? Are you okay? Tell me where you are."

"I'm good, I'm fine!"

"Are you injured?"

"No, I don't think so." A hint of confusion.

"Bones, listen to me. Where. Are. You?" He'd made a point on the last couple of words – making sure she'd get the message.

His efforts didn't go unnoticed. Why was he so worked up? All she needed was a males' perspective…for just one second. Instead, she gets the third degree.

"I. Am. At. Home." If he wanted to play, she was going to play too. Whether he liked it or not. "Where. Are. You?" He could hear a hint of playfulness playing at her voice.

Okay, what the hell? "Bones?"

"Yes, Booth?"

"I'm at home. Sleeping. Like normal people do during early hours of the morning."

"Oh, okay."

Okay, this was seriously weird. "Bones…are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, Booth. I'm fine. I feel pretty good." There was definitely a smile playing on her lips as the words passed through.

Booth was starting to get very confused. She was either 1) toying with him in a very un-bones-like manner, 2) making a point to cover up the fact that she wasn't "feeling pretty good" or 3) she'd inhaled (accidentally) again.

He remembered that time she accidentally inhaled at the club– he was "anthropologically speaking" – talked to death that night.

Maybe this time she'd actually, physically fallen into the cocaine wall?

"Bones – you said you needed my help? What could I possible do for you now, at 2am in the morning, that couldn't wait another six hours?"

"Three, five, seven…"

Was she counting on her fingers?

"Booth! That's 8 O'clock!!"

"Uh, yes, I know."

"No! No, that won't work Booth. I need you now, tonight!"

He blinked – rapidly – a few times. "Excuse me?"

"I said I need you now. Not in six hours!"

Sweet Candy Apples on a stick – was she serious? If her mind was in the exact place his had just traveled he was in some serious trouble. His whole body had tensed.

"Bones – what do you need me for, exactly?" Cautiously, Seeley.

"Help, Booth! I need help with my book thing." Brennan stated like it was the most obvious thing.

Oh, thank God! He sighed and chuckled to himself – flopping back in to the softness of his bed. Saved by the book thing!

Is this all she really needed help with? Her novel? She'd come to him previously when she wasn't quite sure on a procedure for something or other.

Booth snuggled back further into his doona. Man, did he love his bed.

"I just have a question or two."

"Okay, sure Bones. Shoot."

Again – confusion. "Booth, this has nothing to do with guns." She paused a moment and laughed at her own internal joke. "Well, maybe it does." She giggled again.

"It means…you know what? Just ask me your questions, okay, Bones?"

"Fine. What do men usually think about during sex?"

"Next question." His answer was quick and deadly serious.

"No fair! You said you'd help Booth. You're not being helpful."

"Bones – you can't be serious."

"Booth?"

"Hmm..."

"Please? For me?"

Please? She rarely said that magic word. Especially in that sickly sweet tone she'd just put on.

"Please? Geez, Bones. I know you want to know what I'm like in bed, but really? All you had to do was ask."

Did she just giggle again? "Booth, believe me, if I wanted to know what you're like in the sack – you'd know about it."

He groaned. This wasn't exactly a conversation he imagined them having. He'd thought something along the lines of hostage negotiations or mass evacuations even. But not … this.

"Please Booth, will you just help? I've been sitting here for the past four hours and all I've managed to do is write a paragraph of foreplay and drink half – no wait." There was another pause and a swallow. "An entire bottle of wine. I'm asking for your help. Please."

Is that what she was doing? Bones – writing smut and foreplay, and drinking wine and writing smut?

Really, she'd lost him at smut. He'd pick up bits and pieces from there.

And she was asking him for his help?

"Booth, did you hang up?"

"No, no. I'm here. Bones, you're drunk."

"Are you going to help or not?"

Oh, man. He was going to milk this for all it's worth. "How hard is it to type and concentrate, Bones?"

"The edges of every single little word are spinning, okay? Happy now?"

"Ecstatic."

"Booth. I'm really, really, really, completely stuck. I have to get this chapter done and on my publishers desk by 10am. Please."

"Bones – I honestly don't know what to say."

"I can repeat the question if that'll help."

"No! Bones, no. Not necessary. It's forever etched in my memory."

"So……" She sounded way too curious for his liking.

"Well, uh, it sort of varies. I mean, sometimes we think of guy things like, uh, Bones – do I really have to answer this?"

"Yes. Otherwise I'll tie you up with your own cuffs and torture you with every single torrid little detail I can muster on sex from the past 2,000 years."

"Hey! First of all – If anyone's going to be tied up – it's you. You're obviously very cheeky when you're drunk."

"I am not drunk!"

"Second of all – that 2,000 years of sex thing? Very disturbing. Third of all – you're blackmailing a Federal Agent. Again?"

"Yes. I've found you to be quite easy to blackmail. Hey Booth, did you know it's twenty to three. Almost."

"Really, wow. And here I was thinking it may have been some decent hour when people usually call."

"Not funny. Will you just answer the damn question Booth?"

He groaned again. "Okay, but under no circumstance are you to ever, ever repeat this conversation. As far as I'm concerned – this never happened."

"Understood."

"Okay. For example – some guys I know – think about the way the woman smells – despite the sweat and whatever else have you.

And performance, Bones, that's always a big one. You know, is this good for her? Would she prefer another position? Will she be satisfied enough?"

She cut in. "So, basically – insecurities?"

"Basically, yeah. I can't believe we're actually having this conversation."

"It's okay Booth. After a couple hours of sleep, I probably won't remember much. Keep going."

Great. He thought. That makes one of us.

Over the years he'd tried to maintain their professionalism – and keep his attraction under the reigns.

But sometimes – she just got too much for him. Like that time he'd come into the lab quite late one night. Midnight, maybe. It was the first time he'd saw her as a woman.

Not his partner. Not a world renowned Anthropologist. Not a New York Times Best Selling Author. Just Temperance Brennan – the woman within.

That night, he'd leaned in her doorway – like usual. He had no idea what she was doing here so late. Research maybe?

She had music playing from her PC. A deep, smooth, soulful tune.

Booth had spotted her over by the bookcase – he back to him, barefoot and raised up on her tip-toes.

She'd let her hair down from the pin it had been in during the day. Her auburn waves reaching just before her shoulder blades.

Her hips were swaying gently in time with the beat. He just caught a glimpse of the shadow following her hands as they ran over her torso, making their way up further – over her breasts and finding their way into her hair – shuffling loose strands back from her face.

A woman indeed.

Booth left her office that night, without a word – he let her be. Doubting he could form a coherent sentence anyway, given the chance.  
He'd had a very uncomfortable sleep that night.

That was his breaking point.

And this was torture. This is what he got for fantasizing about the one woman he shouldn't.

Karma really was a bitch.

Oh, God. He was fantasizing about his partner while she was on the other end of the phone.

"Hey Booth – is that something you think of often? Tying me up like that?"

Oh, boy.


End file.
